Close Your Eyes
by H. L. Hunter
Summary: "...Close your eyes, and remember everything good..." Of all the ways it was thought to end, this was not the way John had been expecting.


**Hey! This fic was requested to me by a friend, and all I was given as a prompt was the words "Close your eyes, and remember everything good." I was given two hours to write this which is why it is very crap.**

 **And I will state now that Mycroft would have had a much bigger reaction to what happens in the story, but my friend asked that I focus more on John's reaction than anyone else's.**

 **This can be seen as a Johnlock and Mystrade fic, or as that they're all very good friends.**

* * *

Close Your Eyes

* * *

It had all been such a rush.

One moment John and Sherlock had been approaching the door to 221B Baker Street, laughing at the deductions Sherlock had made at Angelo's, the next John was screaming Sherlock's name as he tried to simultaneously wake his best friend and stop the three bleeding bullet wounds in the Consulting Detective's chest. All whilst a black SUV drove away from the scene.

A passer-by had called an ambulance and within ten minutes Sherlock was in the ambulance being rushed to the hospital. At the hospital, doctors and nurses rushed to get him to surgery. John followed, holding Sherlock's hand all the way.

"What's his name?"

"Uh, Sherlock,"

"Sherlock, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me? Patient is unresponsive, prep OR 4."

John hadn't been allowed to follow any further than the double doors before the operating theatres, instead forced to wait in the waiting room until someone came to get him. There, he made phone calls to everyone of importance.

First was Lestrade, who abandoned his paperwork to get to the hospital. He had already been informed of the shooting by the officers who attended the scene but hadn't any idea it had been Sherlock and John involved.

Next was Mycroft, but John had to leave a message with Anthea as Mycroft had been in a meeting wit the Cabinet at the time. The moment he had gotten the message. Mycroft had fled to his waiting car with utmost speed.

Mrs Hudson came after, though she had already known about the incident as he had come outside after hearing John's shouting. John filled her in on the situation.

* * *

Lestrade, when he arrived, had bought John a coffee. The two sat in silence for a while, but Lestrade eventually asked John what had happened.

"It all happened so fast," John murmured, "I was unlocking the door to the flat when the shots rang out. When I looked around, Sherlock was bleeding on the floor and an SUV was driving away."

"Did you catch the plates?"Lestrade asked, but John shook his head.

"KT12 2NU," a voice spoke up. Both the DI and the Doctor looked up to find Mycroft approaching, his umbrella tapping along the ground. "That's the number plate. I had Anthea retrieve the recordings from outside the flat on my way here." The eldest Holmes handed a slip of paper over to Lestrade, who thanked him and whipped out his phone.

"Don't worry John. I'm putting my best people on this case," He told the Doctor, patting the man's good shoulder before he got up and walked a little way away. Mycroft took the now empty seat next to John.

"I spoke to the doctors on my way up here," Mycroft spoke, but got no reply, "the best surgeons there in London are in there with him. He's in good hands."

Silence filled the air. Nothing more needed to be said. Lestrade rejoined them once he was finished on the phone, clicking it shut with little more than a "Thanks Abby," to the person on the other end. John didn't drink his coffee - it went cold before he even realised he had it.

Everything had all been such a rush that John hadn't even gotten to thank that poor passer-by.

* * *

It was almost twenty-four hours later and Lestrade had returned to the hospital after being called into work. The Computer Scientist and Forensic Expert, Abigail Madeline, who Lestrade had assigned to run the number plates through the system had called Lestrade with news. She'd found the car and traced it back t the second in command of a notorious criminal Sherlock had been hunting for over the past few weeks. Unfortunately, before the man could be arrested, Lestrade and the Mets had found him with a bullet through his skull. Suicide.

Lestrade returned to where he had left Mycroft and John many hours ago, only when he got there only Mycroft remained with his head bowed and his hands clasped.

"Any news?" Lestrade asked, snapping Mycroft from any thoughts he may have been having. The British Government stood up.

"The surgery is over. They managed to stop the bleeding..."

"But?"

"... but he had been without oxygen for too long."

"Myc, what are you saying?"

"...Gregory... There's no brainwave activity. The machines are all that's keeping him alive."

As cliche as it may sound, time stopped for Lestrade. He collapsed into the chair wordlessly. Mycroft disappeared round the corner, heading for the room where John sat by Sherlock's side.

* * *

When the door to Sherlock's room opened, John quickly wiped away the tears from his eyes. He sat by Sherlock's bed, holding the Consulting Detective's hand in his own. The man in question lay peacefully on the bed as if sleeping. All the disrupted the lovely scene was the beep. beep. beep. of the heart monitor. Mycroft entered the room. John stood up.

"Uh- here," he said, fishing a memory stick out of his jacket pocket and handing it over to Mycroft. "It's got all of Sherlock's work on it. Thought it might be best for you to have it." Mycroft took the stick and pocketed it wordlessly. John stood at the end of Sherlock's bed, looking over Sherlock's form with more tears forming in his eyes.

"Find whoever did this, Mycroft, and bring the down," John ordered, receiving a nod in return. Mycroft made no motion to leave.

"I can stay if you'd like?" He asked John, but the doctor shook his head.

"No, no, it's alright," he replied, "I won't be long. Just... trying to figure out how to say goodbye." Mycroft's hand found it's way to John's good shoulder.

"You can close your eyes, and remember everything good."

A nod and drying of the now falling tears were the last Mycroft saw before he left. John took his seat again, held Sherlock's hand, and closed his eyes, remembering all the good times they had shared.


End file.
